Twelve Twenty-Three
by AngelFallenFromTheObservatory
Summary: December 23 is Malik Ishtar's birthday, and Yami Bakura intends on making his boyfriend's birthday the best one he's ever had. Warning: Christmas thiefshipping. Reader may experience bloody noses and fangasms, severity depending on how hot author decides to make them go. Rated T for now.


(Just getting most of it up right now. Will write rest. Needed new story to work on. Needed thiefshipping. Enjoy! c:)

November 25, 2013

18:32; Domino City, Japan

It wasn't even Thanksgiving in America yet, and it was already snowing. Malik looked outside of the window from his position on the couch and saw the white flurries falling down from the sky and settling on the ground. Malik looked to his left and noticed Bakura staring out of the other window. His arms were folded across his chest and he leaned against the wall. His carmine eyes were filled with two very-different emotions swirled into one contradicting emotion. Indifference, which emotion he usually showed, an emotion too casual with Bakura. And a new emotion, a mixed emotion of two that Malik had never seen on Bakura. Was it... Confusion and curiosity? Funnily, curiosity killed the cat, but with Bakura denying that he was a cat as much as Malik denied that he was gay, he was probably safe, for now. Why was he confused, though?

Then Malik remembered that Bakura was a spirit from ancient Egypt. Where it was hot, and still is hot. And where snow did not fall down. Was he confused and curious about the snow?

"It's called snow, Bakura." Bakura shifted his eyes towards the Egyptian boy with a scowl.

"I KNOW WHAT IT IS!" But when Malik shifted his eyes to him, he looked back outside, in somewhat of a trance.

"They didn't have it in ancient Egypt, did they?"

"...No. But Ryou had it fall in his town in England, so that's where I've learned about it."

"You act like you've never seen it before."

"That's because I'm not. Even though Ryou is, I'm not. Like I just said, it didn't fall in Egypt 5,000 years ago, it's not something I've ever experienced when I was alive." Bakura tilted his head. "I bet the Pharaoh is looking out his window the same way."

Malik frowned. He mentioned the Pharaoh's name, but he had no insult follow right behind it. He didn't slip "baka" in front of it, like he tends to do whenever he was talking about Yami. It seemed like the snow took away some of the edge in him.

"Did you ever feel what it feels like?

"Like what feels like?"

"Snow."

"It's cold, right? That's what Ryou said it feels like."

"So you've never felt it?"

"No."

"So you learned about snow second-hand from Ryou?"

"It sounds like you think I control this body, 24/7." Malik fell back against a pillow on the couch. He looked at his nails in a half-feminine, half-masculine manner.

"Because you do-"

"Maybe NOW, but there was a time where I let him be himself!"

"How long ago was that?" Malik asked as he rubbed his eye.

"I... don't remember... Before I met you, that's for sure..." Malik's cheeks burned red, but the color was hidden by his Egyptian tan. He felt hot, very hot, and assumed the heat was finally turning on in the house.

"Th-The heat is too high, where's the thermostat?"

"...The heat's not on."

"...The ...heat's not on?"

"No..."

"...Oh." Malik got up. "I need a drink." Malik walked into the kitchen.

"That's great. Thank you for sharing that, Malik, but if I really was curious, I would have asked you. But thank you for sharing that unimportant information with me," Bakura said as he followed him into the kitchen. Malik looked at him with a death stare then poured himself a drink. While sucking down the drink, he noticed a piece of paper on the counter with words scribbled down on it.

"What's this?" he asked aloud, setting his cup down and looking at the paper more closely. Bakura noticed the paper out of the corner of his eye and rushed over to the counter. He quickly grabbed the paper and shoved it into his pocket.

"I was reading that!"

"Reading what?"

"That paper!"

"What paper?" Malik narrowed his eyes.

"What's on it that you don't want me to read?"

"Like I would tell you that, if I didn't want _you_ specifically to read it!"

"What did it say?"

"It's nothing for you to see, don't worry about it."

"I'm going to worry about it! I really want to know what it says!"

"It's nothing, forget about it." Bakura walked out of the kitchen.

"Bakura!" Malik chased after him. He tackled Bakura and threw him onto the couch.

"It's nothing important! Why are you getting so worked up about not seeing it?"

"If it's nothing important, why aren't I allowed to read it?" Bakura didn't say anything.

"So it IS important?" Bakura still didn't say anything.

"Tell me what it says!" Bakura shook his head.

"Or let me see it!" Bakura shook his head again. Malik looked down at Bakura's stomach then back at him.

"Tell me."

"No."

"Fine then. I didn't want to have to force it out of you, but I guess I'm going to have to."

"And how exactly do you plan on forcing it out of me?" Bakura asked, laughing. Malik rose an eyebrow,

"You're asking for it, aren't you? It's like you're begging me to force it out of you."

"Maybe I am, Malik, maybe I am! However you plan on getting me to give you the paper, I dare you to do your worse!"

"Are you sure about that, Bakura? Is that what you really want? You don't know what I'm going to do, do you?"

"Humor me." Malik grinned.

"Alright, if you say so. You're going to laugh your ass off, but you're not going to be humored in any way at all." Bakura didn't know what he meant by that, until he pulled his shirt up to reveal his bare midriff. Bakura immediately pulled his shirt back down.

"No-"

"No, Bakura, you said that you dared me to go all out with forcing you into giving me the paper, or at least what it says."

"But tickling the extremely ticklish is evil, even by our standards!" Bakura mewed helplessly, blushing red in his cheeks as Malik pinned his wrists down above his head.

"Bakura, do you get the concept of 'do your worse'?" Malik asked as he lifted Bakura's shirt up again, dragging a gentle finger across Bakura's stomach as he did. Bakura bit his tongue to keep his giggle in, but as soon as Malik went full out on his stomach, he couldn't contain his laughter and it filled the room with "STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHET!" and "NO, NOT THEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHERE!" The more Bakura tried to resist, the harder Malik tickled him, and he didn't ease up on the torture until Bakura had finally cried for mercy, and was red in the face, gasping and coughing for breath, and had shed a tear or two.

"It's-It's in my-Left pock-pocket," Bakura panted in between coughs. Malik got off his legs and pulled Bakura into his arms, lying him against his chest. He reached into Bakura's pocket while he rubbed his stomach. Bakura was too exhausted from trying to fight Malik to get off his chest and to stop him from rubbing his stomach. Quick frankly, he didn't mind it, because he would come out of the closet, unlike Malik, about his homosexuality. But he did not like the uke treatment.


End file.
